


Deathless Death

by Macksayev



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-14 14:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2194497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macksayev/pseuds/Macksayev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rebuilding Winterfell for the past two years has been difficult for the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa Stark.</p><p>She considers the constant rejection from her beloved non-ser and Sworn shield to be infinitely more taxing, and she readies a plan to make him truly take her words into consideration.</p><p>Smut with plot!</p><p>PIC added Sep 14th</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take me (to Church)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is my first post to this website, and my first fanfic in a VERY long while.
> 
> It's un-betaed so if there are any errors or typos, please let me know~
> 
> I started as a lurker here reading the SanSan fics and so this one has been inspired by the many very talented writers and fanfics here.
> 
> The basis of the fic was originally inspired by Hozier song "Take Me to Church" which has the line "I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies" and I thought that to be chillingly fitting for what I had in mind. (Then the fic took a 180 towards something meaningful haha)

Her anger was simmering at a slow burn. She believed it reigned in and under her control. Her frustration, however, was an entirely different matter. She murmured words of greeting to everyone she passed, though on this day her heart wasn't in it.

She headed briskly towards her chambers as her jaw clenched with renewed aggravation at the replay of the conversation she'd tried to have (unsuccessful, again) the previous night. She paced to her wardrobe after barring the door of her bedchamber, trying to take deep, calming breaths. Unlacing the bodice of her dress proved difficult; starting over several times and fighting off the urge to take to the laces with the dagger that was itchingly close to her fingers.

She laid the dress across the bed, her bed maids would either see it laundered or put away properly. The Lady of Winterfell simply did not have the patience on this day.

She stepped into a new gown, heading out to her solar, to her mirror, dagger in hand. She would need it shortly. She sat at her vanity, sitting to her fullest height and pulling the laces of the bodice behind her back into a messy, tight knot. It likely wouldn't be undone without help, but it wouldn't matter much later- this was an older gown, the first she'd commissioned in the first stages of rebuilding Winterfell.

There had been little fabric to be had, even less that suited the gown of a Lady, and she couldn't bear to spare the only hands that could sew for an intricate design, as there were a great many things the castle still needed. She bid the seamstress to make quick work of it, and she had. The result was a gown that would possibly have been suitable for a minor lordling's daughter, but certainly not _The_ Lady of Winterfell.

Sansa graciously accepted the dress and calmed the seamstress who begged to "make m'lady somethin' fit for a Queen," and Sansa duly promised her after Winterfell had risen once more, she would have such a gown made.

Sansa fingered the slightly threadbare fabric lovingly. It was true- the dress wasn't the lush makings she'd known in King's Landing. It was starting to wear thin in the sleeves where she'd worried it with her fingers in meetings with the Maester and Steward about what still needed doing, it had a faint stain from when they held the smallest Harvest Festival known to Winterfell and she'd been a little too deep in her cups, sloshing wine down her side before her Sworn Shield and beloved non-ser stood and insisted the Lady was due to turn in for the night (in a bit more uncouth terms.)

Her sworn shield.

Sighing deeply, Sansa checked her gown's reflection in the mirror and saw what she knew was apparent- the gown was too small, it had been 2 years since the return to Winterfell and the gown no longer fit her properly. It pushed her chest up to a most unsavory and distracting position. She would bid it a fitting goodbye with the man who'd first seen her in it.

She closed her eyes and thought to the night previous, when she stood in the doorway to his chambers.

She had foolishly believed this would prevent him from running from her at the mere mention of speaking on a deeper level than, say, inquiring after the day's events or the current state of the green men he was training.

He hissed his usual disapproval of the Lady being un-escorted at night, and in the doorway to her Sworn Shield's bedchamber.

"Sandor," she began, wearily, "Please listen to me." But he had not. She tried to press the issue. She had said the same words she'd told him time and time again in these arguments about their time in King's Landing, about her time in the Vale, what she'd learned and come to realize, and she had finally, _finally_ , after holding the embarrassing truth to her heart so closely- brought up the kiss she'd imagined as well as the very real and very worn and battle stained previously-white-cloak that she had up until abandoning the Vale in haste.

He ended the conversation abruptly when she believed she had broke new ground- he admitted that he felt _something_ for her. Sansa was not quick to label it as "love"- the way he had worded it hadn't been very positive- he had compared it to a wolf preying on an "innocent" sheep in the pasture mouth frothing as it waited to rend it limb from limb and then leaving it just as ugly and disfigured and broken (had he meant to end the sentence with "as he was"? She wouldn't let herself think on that too closely now, it hurt her _for_ him) all the while he snarled angrily.

He pounded his fists, he raised his voice, he growled and glared but she wasn't to be scared off. And that had possibly been his breaking point, she thought. He had removed her bodily from his chambers (he'd pressed her arms to her side, lifted her, and carried her out as if she were something unwholesome and dangerous) and then he made haste towards the stables. He rode Stranger off into the darkness, it quickly swallowed them whole, Sansa dragged herself back to her own chambers feeling heavy with sorrow.

Tossing and turning until dawn just to find that he had not returned brought her rage. He stayed gone and hid from the world as if he were the one to be rejected time after time. As if he'd gone to lick his wounds from her bitter words and not the other way around. She'd tried to swallow it down where the hurt and sadness were, but it would not go.

She had bathed, broken her fast, attended her duties, consulted with her steward, and then dinned under the curtain of her anger.

She looked at her own face in the glass and saw the angry patches of red that were just starting to fade from her cheeks- she felt a stab of shame and lowered her eyes. What a sight she must have been to her subjects this day- the men-at-arms, the scullery maids, the cooks, the armorer, the Maester- they had all been put off as she made her rounds this morning.

She must have stirred up ferocious chatter with the fierce look in her eyes, face splotchy red, not to mention how short she'd been with them in turn. The fact that Sandor's voice probably carried to many ears last night had not helped; nor that he had yet to return to Winterfell. She made a mental note to take extra time to speak with each person she may have slighted on the morrow- she would make sure to behave as the Lady of Winterfell should.

Perhaps she would instruct the cooks to prepare something from the stocks that was heartier than normal; instruct them not to water down the ale _too_ much. A good meal after a hardship oftentimes settled into the bones of the commonfolk and could leaden their tongues. Winter was probably far from over, but she had been extra careful with the food, this one time she would let her people enjoy themselves.

An eyebrow quirked up as she thought that possibly she and Sandor would enjoy this meal as heartily as the rest. She sure knew _she_ was starved...

Sansa wondered for a moment if her beloved non-ser had holed up somewhere with a few flagons of wine, or if he took his pleasure with a Wintertown whore- the fresh rage this thought brought roiling in Sansa's belly was easily scooped aside. Sansa knew that after these arguments Sandor had preferred sobriety and his own brand of solitary confinement. She thought it to be a lingering habit from his time on the Quiet Isle- when something troubled him deeply he now was more apt to withdraw to his own chambers and thoughts.

To settle herself she took several deep breaths, hoping them to be cleansing, all the while reminding herself, _'Poised and graceful... Poised and graceful... Poised and-'_

A loud, abrupt knock rattled the door to her solar. She started and rose, hands shaking slightly before she willed herself calm. She opened the door, frowning slightly at her Sworn Shield, who stood before her, freshly bathed and casually dressed in a rough spun tunic and breeches.

The look on his face was anything but casual, a knowing glint in his eye and a muscle jumping in his jaw as he swept into her solar and closed the door firmly behind him, possibly to frighten off any curious or nosey chambermaids hanging about.

"My Lady," he rasped, his eyes jumped almost too quickly from the tight-fitted bodice to some spot on the wall behind her. She stood before him looking every bit the Lady, straight-backed, tall, chin up and hair pinned beautifully and just so, it calmed her to know that some un-nameable emotion was stirring in his eyes. She gazed at his face expectantly, her own expression one of blank serenity.

He cleared his throat with poorly disguised amusement. " _You_ summoned _me_ here, but how is it that I feel you're waiting on me to speak?" She said nothing, but walked slowly in an imaginary perimeter of him. She could see it set him at unease. He didn't make any move to turn towards her but she felt his eyes following her none-the-less. She stopped just out of his periphery.

"Yes, I did summon you here, My Lord," she started, running a fingertip over a cabinet, inspecting it for dust as she continued her slow pace, stopping when she was nearly behind him, beside the door to her solar. "Are you expected elsewhere, Ser?" She asked as she turned towards him, watching as he shifted his weight from the leg that pained him.

He turned to face her, agitation was making its way through his blood stream she knew, and she knew she ought not to goad him but after the hours of unleashed agony she felt this was just a start to relieve herself. His fists were clenched and he had pressed his mouth into a tight line- the ruined side had gone white with the pressure, she ached oh so much to kiss him and soothe his roiling emotions. Sadly, that would have to wait. There was work to be done.

"Funnily enough-" his voice held no humor, just a tension with an undercurrent of rage that she had stirred within him. His voice then dropped in volume- "I am not expected elsewhere. It seems that I have mysteriously dismissed from Guard Duty _and_ the sodding training yard today. Would My Lady know what in the bloody hells is going on?" His chest heaved with angry breaths and it quickened her pulse.

She could practically see his muscles rippling underneath the rough spun tunic. She should feel guilty for feeling the ache between her thighs from his reaction, but she found no measure of it, nor shame. His constant rejections had possibly made her wanton for good, she thought. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling or betraying her own feelings.

So he hadn't been allowed to beat anyone into the dirt today. He'd had no physical release of the emotions he knew not how to handle. It almost made her purr and sigh, it was so perfect.

She was happy to have been able to give the strict orders that she'd second guessed all morning. Mayhap this would be the ticket to her plan working.

She finally met his look with an equally intense one as she barred the door and approached him. "In fact, I do." She felt her blood positively sing and her stomach swooped when he took a step towards her. He glared down at her and didn't move as she raised a hand to put it on his well-muscled shoulder. Her giddy feelings had sobered but her stomach clenched in sudden nervousness. Could she truly do what 2 years of constant rejection had made her desperate enough to scheme?

"Please take a seat, Sandor." She indicated the high backed chair he usually preferred in her solar.

He seemed to have calmed a bit, his teeth were no longer bared to her in restraint- but the grim look on his face remained. He did as his Lady bid, sitting in the chair, his hands clenched over the arm rests. He cocked his head to the side, staring up at her expectantly. She took a deep breath, she noticed his eyes taking in the over-tight bodice again and she had to turn away.

With shaking hands she found purchase on the flagon of wine she'd had waiting, pouring herself a generous amount before drinking deeply of it. She heard his steely laugh behind her. It raised the hair on the back of her neck and sent another electric spike down her spine.

"The Little Bird would have me believe a litany of pretty songs she's cooked up in her head but cannot abide her Dog's hungry eyes on her lovely teats. Is that the way of it, girl?" She set the wine down, spinning on him with fury in her eyes. His eyebrows drew together and he sat up straighter for it, possibly preparing himself for her chastising or beratement. He always seemed to expect one or the other from her. She would give him far worse than both on this night.


	2. That's a Fine Looking High Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing in Sandor's point of view, things are working towards the smut!

"Sansa..." he started, when it was apparent she had nothing to say about his crass comment. She approached him slowly, almost regal in her manner.

"You have denied me something I desire," she said flatly, ignoring the way the muscles in his arms seemed to jump. It was clear that he no longer wished to remain seated while she stood above him.

"Do NOT rise, My Lord," her voice was all Stark- steel and ice. He blew out an exasperated breath, her tone clearly told him not to contradict her, but her loyal dog was nothing if not slightly rebellious; this sound of displeasure was his way of asserting some control on this situation.

She went away from him briefly, returning with her haggard sewing basket, the ragged thing being one of the first things she found on the first walkthrough of the ruined Winterfell. It had belonged to her Lady Mother and somehow survived a good sacking and burning. It was still useful in its holding bobbins of thread and scraps of fabrics, though it looked a bit charred and worse for wear, his Lady Sansa loved it still. She had clutched it to her chest, weeping for her lost and scattered family.

He looked up at her questioningly. He hoped she dared not compare the buggering basket of scraps to him and try the angle of loving something of use even when it should be tossed out. He couldn't meet her eyes as she set it on his lap.

"You have denied me something," she repeated, "and you have avoided every moment that I have tried to make you see reason. I understand the man that you are. It might be that you still think I am the empty headed and silly child who you left at Kings Landing." He winced at the barb in the last sentence. She put her hands on his, they tensed on the arm rests. "If they are but empty songs born from an empty headed girl, do you truly fear what I have to say Sandor?"

Her eyes were fierce once more- he was close to that very real line- the one that when crossed, would send him walking away from her regardless of her orders.

"Little bird," She straightened up as if he'd slapped her. "Don't," She ground out through clenched teeth. He wished he could frame this moment and keep it, she was a marvelous sight for his eyes. Ruddy color was rising from the top of her teats to her ears and her chest seemed to be fighting mightily for breaths against the bodice. Gods she was a sight. His Little Bird truly gone She-Wolf of the North.

The vein in his temple was jumping, his blood was high. He was here against all instinct, he had to know if she meant to send him away. He looked at her hands, collecting scraps of leather from the basket, he rose his eyes to her, befuddled at her actions as she set the basket safely to the side.

"If," she stopped when her voice wavered dangerously and she sounded quite close to the child he had known in King's Landing. She seemed to gather herself and start anew when she trusted her voice, though when it came it sounded ragged- "If you have one _shred_ of feeling for me, you will not move." She then knelt at his feet and he tensed again. He fought instinct to jump out of the chair and flee the room, so unmanned was he by her words and desperation. She wasn't playing fair, they both knew. He knew this must be a last ditch effort of some sort, but he dutifully stayed put for her.

Sandor knew he was in for something of an odd night when she bound first his ankles and then his wrists to the chair. Did she think he would be compelled to speak and let her say her mad piece if she restrained him and chirped at him long enough? His chest heaved with a deep breath, he was put off by being tied down. She cringed, having possibly thought it born from anger, this made him bark out a cruel laugh- would she never stop fearing this old dog?

"Tell it true girl, will you now gag me and take your pleasure of me?" She didn't meet his challenging gaze, her face lit up red, and he sat back with a snarl of a bitter smile on his face.

She wordlessly turned from him and went to her vanity, returning with a dagger clutched in her fist, he looked at her, his stomach turned in unease. What did she mean to do? "I don't like that it's come to this. If you would just _listen_ , and for once not doubt my intentions... it would not have come to this." Her eyes were dry but her voice was thick with emotion and he looked at her as if she were quite mad.

She held up the dagger in a trembling hand. "You won't listen though, so I have...made you my captive audience by force. I won't gag you because I expect answers." He chuckled darkly. "Going to split me open until I give into some secret agreement with you bird? Have you gone mad?"

She turned away from him and took another swig of the wine, this time from the flagon directly. Was she trying to gather to courage to bleed him? He half smirked at the idea before she turned back to him, just holding the dagger now, unsheathed and at her side.

"Remember how to use it girl? Been a while since I saw fit to make you learn it in the Vale." He watched her warily as she approached, his fingers spread and his arms flexed to test the leather. She leaned in, maintaining eye contact with him. It felt like he was burning, he drew a breath but it somehow seemed too little.

She lifted the tunic from his chest and cut into the fabric. It cut away easily, and he watched it, entranced as she decided against using it the entire length of the tunic and ripped the rest of the way down. He would be deeply amused if he weren't so unnerved. She set the dagger down.

"Sansa," he growled, his arms struggled against the leather again. He found it to be quite good quality and hazily thought to possibly find the tanner later to speak with him about making him a jerkin. Then he felt her crawl into his lap, he could feel her bare knees on the sides of his stomach. He exhaled and felt the anger rise in him.

"Don't you play with me girl." She settled her hands on his shoulders and met his eyes with a mild look on her face. "Will you accept my truth Sandor?" He narrowed his eyes, he thought to buck up against her and throw her to the stone floor for bringing this mummers show to him. "Don't. Play. _Girl._ " He was grinding his teeth together as she leaned forward and took his lips with hers.

He slammed his head back against the solid wood of the chair. He saw stars for a split second before he refocused on her face before him. "Bloody Hells Sansa!"

She watched him impassively for a second, fingers splayed over his chest and playing with his dark chest hair. It might tickle a bit if he thought to enjoy her touch.

"I promise you that this is no game. I am completely serious. I swear it on my life. I have grown tired of waiting and being patient that you will see what's in front of you. What I offer you not out of a sense of duty or out of the desire to fulfill my own version of "The Fool and his Cunt" as you love to spit at me at every turn! It's not a song I want, it's not some boot licking lordling, it's you, you bloody stubborn fool!"

He struggled against the leather again. "Oh aye, and this," he opened his hands to gesture to his restraints, "This is the best way then?" He snarled, angrier than before, head still firmly against the chair back and his eyes blazing a clear warning to stay back.

"As I said, you have refused me at every turn. No time and place was appropriate as long as you could run away from me." He exhaled a shaky breath, closing his eyes. "Why not command me to have you? As your Dog you know I would obey." His voice was bitter and flat.

"I would not command you to take my maidenhead when that is not the issue at hand." She said her voice trembling with anger. She took a breath. "I would have you as a man, not a dog, Sandor, and no other way." She murmured, her eyes on his, her hands sliding from his pecs to his arms, squeezing gently. "Though I suppose if you're my dog I mean to bring you to heel. You'll obey me this night."

"Bugger that Little bird, tell me what you would have me do! What exactly do you hope to achieve with this farce?!" She put a hand under his chin and Tully blue met stormy grey. "I want what I have always wanted. Mayhap _you_ will finally be truly honest with _me_." He made a derisive noise and her expression became stern. "Oh that you never believe me, I know. A jape at the expense of the Hound, you would believe. Do you think so little of me, Sandor? You said you can sniff out a lie- do my words ring false to you?"

"'Always wanted', Sansa? You were a quivering child when I left you the night of the Battle. You still could not bear to look upon me! Don't dress your words up- I wasn't that wine sick then." She flinched. "At first, yes." she conceded evenly.

"That was then. After my father was killed and you... you tried to guide me... It wasn't your burns that drove my eyes away from your face, hear me and heed my words for true this time," she cupped his face in both hands. "The hate in your words, the contempt and rage in your eyes when you would look upon me frightened me. I didn't understand what in particular I had done to draw your ire. I realized later that it was your way. You were gentle with me when no one else was. You helped me in your own way."

She has said these words so many times, she seems almost weary of repeating them. He knows the next words will speak of when he left, how she regretted not going with him, how she accepted it later when she realized what she still had to learn and how certain things in the Vale taught her while she used his lessons as a starting point to keep herself safe against Baelish, against the Heir, he's heard it many times.

He wonders how much she's rehearsed it, he wondered the same last night until she threw a curveball and admitted that for a long time she'd remembered a kiss on the night of the Battle of Blackwater. That it warmed her many a night and that she clung to the disgusting off white monstrosity of the cloak he'd left behind. That had been like a gut punch, it stole the air from his lungs.

That she'd pined for him, it seemed so foolish she'd do such a thing when the greatest "kindness" he'd shown her in Kings Landing was managing to not strike her. He decided to cut off her words, "Girl, the fact that you took my snarling and spitting as a kindness is twisted enough without the knowledge you sat in the Vale pining away for a drunken bastard."

"Enough!" Sansa stood, fists clenched. He registered a sadness at losing the warmth and softness she brought, but this was better. For both of them.

"You would sit there and get only that twisted misrepresentation out of what I have said, it is the furthest thing from the truth I have come to know." She heaved a breath, he watched her teats and let the sick shame wash over himself for falling to the expectation he had of himself: the dog waiting for scraps to fall from the table. She was trying to throw him a steak. He would sooner tuck tail and run than be the starving dog who was overfed and died from it.

"I will have the truth from you Sandor." She looked upon him haughtily and she looked quite pleased with herself when she then said, "I'll have a song from you whether you will it or no." He almost spit from the bile working its way up his stomach.

"Been waiting for a time to lay that one that back at me, Little bird?" he grumbled, almost enjoying her twisted words.

"I always wondered," she watched his face for any signs of emotion. "When I came to be Alayne Stone in the Vale and learned a fair few things that Sansa Stark would never know except for falling headfirst into the marriage bed... What sort of song did you intend from me, Sandor?"

He looked away then. He couldn't keep eye contact. The shame burned him almost inside out. "Little bird," his voice was familiar steel-on-stone with an unfamiliar choked sound to it, "I can't hope to have myself forgiven for what I thought and let myself regurgitate at you with the flood gates opened by Dornish Red."

"Is that what this is about? Sandor, as you reminded me the first night in the Vale, wearing the brown-and-dun brothers robes, many a man will lay his eyes on me in hunger, a few would attempt their hands, and you would castigate yourself for some untoward thoughts?" She raised an eyebrow. "You will have to forgive me my words, non-ser, but have you thought to include me in what your thoughts may be about me now? I might take a liking to them. I admit there were many lonely nights that it was more than your cloak making me warm in the night," She said it gently as she leaned forward and stole another kiss from him.

He turned his head from her, heard a soft sigh through the rushing of blood in his ears. 

"Oh Sandor, I prayed it wouldn't come to this..." He watched her hand close over the dagger and he looked at her in alarm. What would she do with it?

She seemed to radiant a serenity he could not find when she brandished the dagger, her eyes on his. "Oh my beloved non-ser," she breathed, her eyes soft as she pointed the dagger at her heart. Did she mean to bleed herself out until he accepted her bleeding truth?!

She breathed a soft breath and the dagger split the taut seam of her bodice, he felt his stomach clench as her teats fell away from the material as she cut the lacings on her skirts. A shaky and choked "Sansa," fell traitorously from his lips. He was too busy taking her in, too hungry with need to police his words as strictly as he should have. 

 


	3. I'll Worship Like a Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok! This chapter begins the smut! It coincides with the end of the last chapter at the start.
> 
> I've put a warning on the fic for dub/non-con.
> 
> This one will switch back and forth from Sansa to Sandor's point of view

She sighed when he turned his head from her kiss, she could see the muscle jump in his jaw. Would he never allow himself any shred of hope or happiness?

"Oh Sandor, I prayed it wouldn't come to this..." She grabbed the dagger once more and watched his eyes flash dangerously. What he must be thinking, she wondered. It made no matter. She hoped there wouldn't be a coherent thought left soon.

"Oh my beloved non-ser," she breathed, her eyes never leaving his face as she nestled the tip of her dagger at the top of the bodice, it nestled in the part of her cleavage. His eyes flashed dangerously again, he looked frantic for a heartbeat. She realised he thought she meant to hurt herself. To force him to watch her hurt herself or to give himself over to her.

She sighed and drew the dagger down slowly, slowly, as it split the tightly laced bodice in two, she continued lower to slice the lacing of the skirts.

"Sansa," he breathed- if he'd had a moment to process the situation, to take in anything besides her silky white teats and the lustful glint in her eyes she wondered if he would remember how Ser Boros bared her to the entire court on Joffrey's command. He usually drew things into negative conclusions, but something in the glint of his eyes told her he was no where except here and now, drinking her in greedily.

Sansa shimmied out of the skirts, the bodice fell away, and she hoped that it was to his delight that she wore no shift and not a shred of small clothes. She watched his eyes, it seemed that the thatch of dark red curls on her womans place was holding his attention. Her heart fluttered and she stood straighter. She'd been excited many times on this night, but now her pulse absolutely thundered, she could feel the deep flush from her chest to her forehead as she watched him lick his lips distractedly.

She was oh so glad she'd had him removed from any sort of physical activity on this day. His blood was definitely up. She could see his erection clear as day, straining against his breeches.

She waited for his eyes to find hers. When they did she slowly removed every pin from her styled hair, shaking it loose, smiling at him from underneath the waves of hair.

-Sandors P.O.V.-

He was leaning forward, chest heaving at his sudden need. Like a dog in need of a good rut, damn him. He'd be more ashamed if he'd had the wherewithal.

The only thing he seemed able to do was open and close his suddenly very parched mouth, clenching and unclenching his hands.

"I won't play fair because despite our mutual feelings, as I understand them, you still refuse me." She looked like the damned Maiden standing before him, offering him salvation in the form of what, her cunt? He watched as she kicked the ruins of her dress aside and moved forward until their knees touched.

He took a shuddering breath, looking up at her. "Do you truly mean to ruin yourself on me, Sansa?" She smiled at him coyly. "First, I wouldn't call that a ruin," she ran a hand through her fiery tresses. "And second, no, that is not what will happen tonight."

She leaned in and captured his lips again, she didn't need to look to know that his hands struggled against the bonds, so badly did his hands want and need her skin. He reacted to her words, sitting back and looking at her face.

"No girl you won't play fair, but do you truly hope to get me to agree to your never ending chirping this way?" She leaned forward, her hands rested on his shoulders. Her teats were level with his hungry eyes. He fought the urge to take a teat in his mouth whole. It would be his undoing. He clenched his jaw resolutely.

"Sandor, I do understand that you're a very stubborn man." She gathered her resolve against her rising shyness. "But I mean to have you beg." She murmured, her voice filled with dark promise. It chinked his mental armor, he exhaled shakily.

-Sansa's P.O.V.-

She moved away just as he made to lean forward into her, to kiss, bite, graze against her breasts, she did not know. She just could not allow him to take something that wasn't yet allowed to him. She shivered deliciously, she looked into his eyes and a jolt of pleasure made its way to her core as she saw that he seemed deeply disappointed to have missed his chance to make contact.

"You won't heed my words, let us see if you will heed my actions..." her hands rose from her sides to slip a feather light touch across her chest, the brief touch on her burning skin made her sigh, her nipples puckered in the somewhat chilly air. When she heard his ragged breathing she set her gaze on him once more.

"Oh of course, I suppose we cannot ignore your needs either. Shall we remove those burdensome breeches, my non-ser?" As plain as day the words were teasing and would normally displease him. Here, however, his eyes darkened with desire, he seemed to agree wholeheartedly with her words. She mustn't let him comeback to his good senses, she knelt where she stood and slowly made her way towards his legs, he watched her with such an intense look in his eyes that it gave her pause as she straightened up on her knees before him.

Had the answer to her fretful prayers these past two years been so obvious? Had it been as simple as stripping as seducing him, had he starved for this for so long?

She leaned forward, her almost fever-warm body pressed at his legs as her hands sought the laces on his breeches. She first let her fingers trace the straining bulge- his breath steamed from him in a prolonged hiss.

She stayed her hands and turned her chin up to meet his eyes once more. One red eyebrow quirked. "Shall I stop, My Lord?" The agitation came quick to his eyes. Sandor opened his mouth to undoubtedly bark a harsh retort and she let one hand squeeze his length just once, quickly, and the words died away as his head dropped back, a ragged groan tearing from the back of the throat instead.

She waited just a moment for him to recover and then leaned between his knees. Her lips sought the hard ab muscles that jumped as her teats grazed his knees. She felt his hips buck once underneath her and she sat back, trying to ignore her own sudden need.

She palmed his hardness again, watching the muscles of his abs convulse for a moment before she leaned in again. She planted her hands firmly on his hips as she licked at the tip of his cock through the breeches, the flat of her tongue dragging slowly across the coarse fabric, making sure to let the hot saliva soak through.

She sat up as his hips jerked roughly against her braced arms. She leaned in again when he settled, but this time she started at the base of his cock, resting her tongue in the fold of the breeches where his shaft met his balls and dragged her tongue up the length of him in an agonizing motion before kissing the tip and sitting back again.

His groans had been driving her to distraction all the while, though they sounded muffled, as if heard from another room or perhaps from underwater. She realized it was the rush of her pulse in her ears impairing her hearing, the dull throb between her thighs was much more insistent now.

She traced the underside of his cock, where she knew there was a vein waiting. In the meantime she caught her breath and she registered the sound of his hands clenching the armrests quite hard, as if holding on for dear life and the thought that he could be so undone sent another pang of need through her.

She moved her fingers up to the waistband of his breeches then, making sure to take her sweet time to languidly unlace them. She knew he was in a haze of need, she meant to keep him there until she had completed her task- he could dwell on her sexual prowess later and find the conclusion that would come easily.

While Petyr had needed her with her maidenhead intact, he had not needed her wholly untouched, or "ignorant and naive of what happens in the marriage bed, or anywhere really," as he'd put it. She didn't need to tell Sandor that Petyr made sure that she watched, and then performed, and then tested her new knowledge on a few of Gulltown's finest- nor that later, when sufficiently "knowledged", Petyr "let" her test her skills on him.

Sansa knew that her Sworn Shield would come across that conclusion on his own later. He knew her maidenhead was still there, but this act she was lavishing him with was something that Alayne Stone, bastard of a whoremongerer, would have learned as easily as though it were a trade that any child of a baker or armorer would know.

As if she'd ever use the damnable skills on anyone against her will ever again. It mattered not, Petyr could not be killed a second time, and Sandor's rage would likely take a back seat to this memory of pleasure later.

She finished unlacing his breeches and began to peel them down his fine body, appreciating each inch that she would reveal to herself. When his cock sprang free and she dragged the breeches down to bunch at his ankles she couldn't help but marvel at it. It was definitely the largest she'd ever seen, thick, and at that moment it leaned to the side, one drop of cum at the tip. She could she the vein pulsing with his arousal.

Her tongue darted from her mouth to wet her lips as she wondered quite needily what it would feel like buried inside of her. She pressed her thighs together in an attempt to quell the deep ache settling in her lower half. Her eyes fluttered closed as a soft "Oh," escaped her open mouth and she clenched her hands on the spindles of the chair for balance.

Her eyes opened to the sight of his cock jumping slightly, her hazy mind connected that this reaction was drawn from her wanton reflex from simply _seeing_ his manhood. She straightened again and bit her lip as she took in the glorious sight of him- muscled, scarred, coarse dark hair spreading from his defined pectoral muscles, down his toned stomach and around the impressive manhood that jutted upwards, slightly red in his aroused state.

She wrapped her hand around him as best as she could and gave him two quick strokes, he was hot to the touch and she could feel him stiffening even further in her grasp. She released him, moving back from him to allow herself to grab the ruined dress.

She spread it across the stone floor and knelt upon it, she found his eyes again and held them for a second before watching her own hands as she trailed them across her body again, stopping to palm her teats and let him watch her push them together before she touched herself down her flat belly, across the span of her hips as her eyes flickered up to his momentarily.

She dropped her gaze to her own body. She could see the pink flush of her skin as she spread her knees and placed one palm on the floor behind her to brace herself. Her free hand she pressed against her mound, curling her fingers in the red curls as she sunk lower, legs opening wide. She let her eyes flicker to his again and her heart began to pound as she found herself again thrilled by the shock she felt at the stark ravenous glint apparent there.

She waited for the span of a few heartbeats and continued. The hand that toyed with her red curls slowly moved back up her body, two fingers pressed against her skin, up her stomach, between her breasts, slowly, too slow, and Sansa's head lolled back for a second, taking in a shallow breath. She slid her hand down once more, pressing apart her nether lips, gasping at the veritable pool she sank two fingers into.

She stayed her hand as she sought his eyes again, only to find they were transfixed firmly on her hand. She drew out the two fingers to spread the wetness, she let her fingers gap apart to make a slick noise purposefully, watching her beloved who was so entranced by her actions. Sansa circled her fingers around her clit, letting a soft moan escape her, knees shaking as she lowered the fingers back to her sopping cunt to fill the aching emptiness.

She frigged herself at a purposeful pace, withdrawing again to thrust her fingers back inside. Her hips bucked at the feeling, she cried out watching his hips mimic the motion. New heat unfurled in her belly as she realized he wished to take the place of her fingers.

"Oh Sandor," she mewled piteously, then, "Gods," she was trembling with a need heavier than her slender and shallowly placed fingers could deliver her. She removed her hand completely, shaking off the desperation to bring herself to climax, straightening up and crawling towards him again.

He seemed to shiver in anticipation when she let her breasts skim his knees and she rewarded his expectancy with a slow slurp on his cock head, tongue swirling and withdrawing almost as quick. His chest rose with a ragged breath, she let a few heated moments pass.

Before he could start to form any semblance of a thought she had him gripped in her palm, stroking him almost tortuously light. His muscles shook in protest and she quickly countered by taking him completely in her mouth at once. Her lips hit the base of his cock and she fought the urge to gag as he surpassed the back of her tongue and extended beyond. She withdrew immediately, swallowing quick to right herself.

She took him into her hand again, stroking him before stopping and pulling away completely. She would refuse him any sort of level ground or any time to adjust to what she might do. She realized that she needed him wildly desperate, not unlike how she felt.

She began to explore his body, fingers tracing scars, gripping muscles, and whispering over hair. She then grazed her nails down his abs through the trail of his pubic hairs. His cock jumped again, he was excited for the proximity of her hand.

She thought to maybe tease him then- she made deliberate eye contact and licked her lips slowly as she lowered her mouth and open mouth kissed him high on his thigh. She shifted the kisses closer and closer, he tensed every inch she neared his aching member. She looked up into his eyes as she gave a teasing lap against his cock. He was panting raggedly, she knew she would soon need to stop this.

She braced her knees, giving him a searing look before taking him in hand and at the same time sucking him off. Her other hand cupped his balls gently. He made a heavenly noise of pleasure and she practically purred, tightening her hand on his cock as she moved up and down his shaft, slurping in a most unladylike fashion. She continued to alter her pace until she felt a telltale tightening in his balls.

She pulled her mouth from him with a wet popping noise and gave him a few more strokes before retracting her hands as well. He growled in complaint, his hips thrust up desperately and at that she almost broke and took him back into her mouth to give him the pleasure she longed to gift him.

When it was apparent that she would not continue her Heavens-sent lavishing he was more agitated than ever. She admired his cock, it had gone a deep engorged shade of red-purple, so close was he to his climax. She waited patiently for him to break the silence.

He waited a few moments longer than he usually would have- Sansa thought perhaps he was thinking she would interrupt him with a generous lashing of her tongue as before. When it wasn't to be, Sandor grumbled, almost petulant, "Tell me Sansa." His voice was so quiet and almost tender that it nearly ruined her resolve again. "Tell me what in the Seven Hells you're doing."

She straightened to the best of her ability on sore knees and took his restrained hand in both of hers, kissing his knuckles. "I mean to destroy whatever defense you have to keep me at arms length. I mean to break you open and fill you up completely with my love until you can't deny it, can no longer deny me. Until you cannot live without it."

His head hung forward, he let out a breath that was heavy with choked emotion.

"I won't let you keep up this charade of protecting me by holding yourself away from me. I mean to have you and love you Sandor. For you to have me. I love only you. I won't force my maidenhead on you because it would likely kill you as you are now if it would make me heavy with child."

She again positioned herself on the ruin of a gown and palmed herself longingly as his attention returned to her hands and how they kneaded her supple teats and again sought the throbbing nub. "I long for you in all the ways a woman can for her Lord Husband, Sandor."

He swallowed audibly as she filled herself with the same two fingers to the knuckle and her voice trembled as she called for him. "I...I had hoped you would relent to my words... I had hoped you would beg for me... for my desire of you." She kept his stare, her eyes were hazy with lust but his eyes stayed on hers all the same.

"My bed is so lonely when I dream of you in it. My....my....cunt is so lonely when I dream of you in it." She keened, knees spreading wider as her fingers found a sweet spot. Her hips thrashed skyward as she watched his fingers flex shakily in their restraint.

She trembled in her near release, her mouth open in silent pleading though her eyes never left his. She was so, so close. "Sandor..." she begged, " _Please_." Though it was more likely born more out of carnal need than acceptance his head gave an almost imperceptible nod.

She withdrew her fingers, sobbing at the loss. She waited for her legs to stop shaking as she rose, patting her knees for bloodflow as she made her way towards him. She slowly and carefully positioned herself on his lap, knees on his thighs as she steadied herself, hands on his shoulders as she made very sure that he could not penetrate her.

"You may use your mouth in whatever manner you wish," she murmured as she dropped one hand from his shoulder to find her pleasure again, fingers slipping so easily inside herself. It wasn't so long before she was quaking, she longed badly to sink onto his cock that stood at rapt attention below her.

-Sandor's P.O.V.-

"Gods damnit Sansa, untie my fucking hands woman!" but she did not heed his words.

So far gone was she, she frigged herself with increased desperation, her eyes begging him for something that he was powerless to give her while he was bound. He thrust his hips up in desperation but he could not find an angle that would bury him in her sweet cunt.

He growled in frustration as she gasped again, her legs trembled and her teats heaved as she neared her climax, he wanted and needed so badly to help her there. He was distraught as her hips began to move jerkily against her hand- she was going to explode with her release soon, he leaned his head forward and sucked her nipple into his mouth greedily. Her free arm wrapped around his shoulders as the heat from his mouth sent her over the edge.

It was his name she cried out over and over, riding the crest of her orgasm, her hips bucking wildly. He could feel wetness drip on his starved cock below her, he thrust up with abandon, he growled as he made contact with the underneath of her soft thigh and like a damned green boy it was his undoing. His orgasm rang hollow, it did nothing to relieve the hunger for the woman gyrating on his lap. He growled weakly as his seed leaked between them.


	4. I Should've Worshipped Her Sooner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter just to bring things to a head for the next chapter~
> 
> Fully Sandor P.O.V. here, setting up for the second part of the story!

"Enough girl, get up and untie me. I've had enough of this buggering farce." The hurt in her eyes made him duck his head, but she relented and untied him- she even had the good grace to look deeply ashamed.

"Sandor I..." he realized she was crying. All the more reason he needed to be on his way quickly. "What girl? Out with it."

She faced him, her arms covering her bare breasts, eyes shining so blue with tears rolling down her face. "If you really will deny me again...please... I just wish for a true kiss from you. I will not trouble you again." He fixed his breeches and snagged one of her dark cloaks to fasten at his collarbone- it would have to do to replace the tunic that lay destroyed on her floor. He could see her fidgeting in the corner of his eye.

"Aye, alright then." He fought hard to keep the emotion from his voice. He clasped her bare shoulders and leaned down, taking her lips with his. He kissed her chastely at first, then deepened the kiss, fisting his hands in her hair. Bless her, he could taste what must have been his cock. His thoughts darkened to displeasure as he thought of the "Whore's Gift" she'd bestowed upon him with such eager devotion that his heart seized up in his chest and threatened to heave out all the pretty little words she longed for.

He shoved her shoulders a bit roughly as he backed up. She turned away from him, he could almost hear her heart break in two- he truly then wanted, actually longed to fall at her feet and beg her forgiveness for being such a good-for-nothing after she'd given him so much pleasure, and a lovely memory to boot. He clenched his hands and fought the overwhelming urge to repay the favor and greedily eat her cunt until the precious Lady of Winterfell woke up the whole castle with her cries of delight.

He left her solar immediately, he knew he'd definitely be taking himself in hand later with her in his mind's eye- knees spread wide apart and his name falling from her lips. He arrived at the wine cellar before he knew it and grabbed a whole bloody small barrel of it. He meant to remain gone a while this time if only in his mind.

This time, as well as every sodding time before, Sansa poured her heart out to him, and he believed her as he had every bloody time before. She loved him true. He just could not let the Lady of Winterfell lose the necessary alliances from the bannermen that hoped to marry her, either to the Lord of the House or the sodding first son.

How Winterfell would survive without it's generous bannermen he could not see. They had come to Sansa's aid in the beginning, bringing food for their stores, ale and wine, and most importantly, men to rebuild the sacked castle.

No, the Lady of Winterfell needed her loyal houses as much as she trusted her Sworn Shield to protect her. It had become increasingly difficult to protect her from her idea and insistence of marrying a broken landless, former Lannister dog for love.

He meant to rid himself of the suffocating pressure in his chest by drowning it in wine. He also meant to drown whatever emotion that was trying to claw its way out of his throat and burn itself out of his eyes. He'd also need to take himself in hand soon if he couldn't drive out the thrice-damned image of her on his lap out of his thick skull. He was bound to hurl his fists at something or someone before the night was over at this rate.

Watching the sunrise made Sandor think on how it hadn't been easy turning her away after her impassioned words of love. He did it out of necessity- she would likely regret their coupling if he let it come to that. If he let himself accept what she offered; if he laid his cloak over her shoulders underneath the weirwoods in the Godswood as he had so many times in his dreams.

She would eventually come to know what he knew: it would turn away the houses she needed to bring Winterfell back to its prime, and she would resent him for it. He rejected her again and again out of the loyalty to her cause, born from what he knew was bloody, buggering, thrice-damned foolish love.

He fought too hard to remain impassive towards her, to reject her words and not react with anything other than anger. Anger that railed against the unfairness that he must turn away what he realized he truly wanted. In the peace and quiet of his mind he very much wanted her. Sansa.

Every time he felt his resolve soften he stayed away longer and longer. The first few times had been spans of an hour or two. This last time was the entire day.

He wondered how long this time it would take for him to go back to Winterfell and face her without breaking and begging her hand in marriage. How long it would be before the clawing emotion in his chest died away leaving him feeling hollow.

He wasn't sure how long it would take to rebuild his resolve. He was sure something had broken in him last night. He couldn't close his eyes without seeing her there- tying him down, cutting open the bodice of her over-tight gown, her hands and mouth on him... it had been too much.

He doubted he could go back and be as strong as he needed to be to face her. He ought to leave Winterfell, pack his meager belongings and saddle Stranger and ride away from the Little bird. Leave her alone to the increasingly less polite bannermen. He could feel the pressure in his chest, it felt like it was slowly crushing from the inside. 

Even if he wanted to leave her, he could not. Besides his need to protect her, he wanted to be there to watch his Little bird. To watch her break her fast while chattering casually with her people (they loved her almost as much as he did, which he thought impressive.) To watch her helping the seamstress, giving words of encouragement to the squires training in the yard, watch her tend her horse Snowcap after a ride, and the private moments in her solar where she consulted him, eagerly trusting his words implicitly. The thought alone filled his heart to bursting.

The thought of her inevitable marriage to some shite of a Lordling or Knight pained him deeply. He never let himself dwell on it, but it seemed she had broken his strength for true. He knew she had to make the best match for herself and her people. It was only Sansa and himself that wanted nothing of the sort to occur. 

He rolled over and heaved up the wine in his empty stomach, wiping his mouth with his arm. He hoped he would find something he could cleave with his sword but he had not the strength to stand. His body was cold, having left the castle without grabbing a new tunic to replace the one Sansa savagely tore off his body, the look in her eyes ravenous. He rolled onto his back and clutched the cloak around him as he willed the ground to stop spinning underneath him.

He was so wine sick, all he wanted to do was lie in his dark bed chamber and bid the maids bring him water and maybe some of the black bread that helped him from benders in Kings Landing. He groaned piteously, squeezing his eyes closed as his head throbbed. He wanted to be back in Winterfell, waiting for Sansa herself to let herself into his bed chambers and scold him in the gentlest possible voice.

He would have laughed at the memory if he didn't start heaving at that moment. He crawled to the stream and cupped water to drink. 

She deserved so much better, he mused, even as his stomach rolled again. ' _But she wants you against all logic_ ,' he let out a pained, rasping laugh. 

If she truly wanted him, she would have him.

But first she would get back what she gave him last night, ten fold. Sandor settled back to hopefully sober up and prepare to deliver delicious retribution to his Little bird...


	5. Knows Everybody's Disapproval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa in the aftermath, her thoughts as she goes about her day.
> 
> More lead up to the action forthcoming!

Sansa did not expect to sleep well, despite her sexual release early in the night. Sandor had left again, and little more than an hour later a kitchen maid knocked gently on her chamber doors to let her know he'd been through the kitchens and into the wine cellar.

She had been dressed in a bedgown and threw on her heavy wool cloak, following the girl to the kitchens, where a few scullery maids and cooks still lingered. She bid they let Sandor's indiscretion go, she would see him reprimanded, she assured them. When he returned. _If he returned._

She then gave the cooks the orders for the hearty dinner she wanted on the morrow. She'd tried to inject the soft authority into her voice, but she found her voice ringing hollow and dull. She bid them all a good night and excused herself to get some rest. She barred her bed chamber door and stoked the fire in the brazier before removing her cloak. It was already a deeply cold night. She prayed that wherever Sandor found himself, he was warm.

She crawled under her furs and closed her eyes. She let herself cry. She let herself be weak and broken and promised herself she would be strong when the sun rose. She took deep breaths, willing the stone walls warmed with hot springs to grant her the strength of the generations of Starks who had ruled here before her. But until first light, she would let herself be the girl with a broken heart. She wondered if he would leave her this time. He seemed rigid with stern disappointment, and of course, anger.

His kiss had only served to let her know what she would never truly possess. What a kiss it had been, she could still feel his mouth on hers. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to silence her crying. She knew the entire castle would know by morning what had transpired. She bitterly wondered why she tried to hide such things any longer.

At dawn, Sansa rose from her bed bleary-eyed. She bid her maids bring her hot water and bread with honeyed milk to break her fast. She attended her duties as she promised herself, in a manner that befit her. It made her feel a reserved sense of pride that she could go about her day in such a calm manner.

The Lady of Winterfell ought not mope or ignore her duties because of her own personal trials.

After chatting almost merrily with the Steward and the Maester over tea about the upcoming dinner, she thought to enjoy the quiet in the Godswood.

She often became contemplative kneeling beneath the weirwood trees, thinking on the past, the present, and the future. She could sometimes lose herself in thoughts for hours. 

She knelt on a spare cloak in the snow, praying to the Old Gods for her family. She prayed for her departed Father, Mother and brother Robb. She prayed for the departed direwolves Grey Wind and her beloved Lady. She prayed for Nymeria, wherever she was.

She prayed for her remaining family- she longed to have Arya, Bran, and Rickon home so badly. Winterfell was repaired and standing, though not yet at it's best, but risen, and it still seemed empty without her siblings. Even if she had to relinquish hold of the castle to Bran or Rickon, it would leave her happy to see her brothers again. 

When Spring finally did break she planned to make her way to Castle Black. She would like to see Jon very much. Losing most of her family and living as a bastard herself gave her new appreciation for the life he must have lead. There was one huge dissimilarity between them. It had been how she had treated Jon. She regretted the coldness she'd shown him growing up. She hoped to at least come to know Jon, if not seek his forgiveness. Whether her Lady Mother liked it or not, he had been a part of their family, their pack.

Sansa saw fit to include him in anyway she could, especially since he'd rejected Robb's will that named him heir to Winterfell. Her father had been right- they were all stronger together. She had said so in a raven sent shortly after she arrived in the ruins of Winterfell.

Jon had responded in kind, but there was so much that needed saying that she wanted to impart in person. 

She prayed that the Old Gods see fit to help Winterfell prosper. She wanted peace and happiness for its people. It was the commonfolk who had suffered most for Winterfell, she meant to see them as they were when her Lord Father ruled as Warden in the North. 

She prayed they grant her the wisdom and serenity to accomplish such a feat.

When she could ignore the thoughts gnawing at her mind no further, she prayed for Sandor. To let him find forgiveness inside him for her actions and let things between them go back to the way they were before she shattered their peace. She felt terrible for having disappointed him so. If she couldn't have him for herself she would try to be content to keep his counsel and steady presence. She would draw strength from him as she always had.

Sansa mused that her day's activities seemed lonelier without Sandor. It was true that their duties rarely coincided- it was when they did or when she could feel his eyes upon her from afar it filled her with vigor that lasted until she could retire to her solar and seek his counsel. 

She rose from the snow and left the Godswood feeling a sense of trepidation. She wondered if Sandor would return. She hoped he would, so she could apologize.

The hum of excitement in the hall brought her back to the present. She helped the maids set the tables, scraping wax, scrubbing tables, laying new rushes- no job was below her, though the maids shyly tried to send her off. She wouldn't have it, she had shoveled through the ruins with her people, she would help them prepare for likely the best supper they would have since Lord Eddard Stark ruled.

She pulled back her hair and exchanged merriment with them about the night's "feast" and possible future feasts, once the gardens in the newly built glass gardens began to bloom. Lemon cakes, meats spiced with garlic and thyme, salads dressed in perfectly seasoned oils, it left her stomach aching in hunger.

As she disposed of the wax of the candles and made her way to a new long table she was accosted by a dirty face popping up at her from beneath the benches.

Her favorite cook's son Robett peered up at her almost indignantly. He was an energetic lad of 6. "Where's Clegane, m'lady?" He demanded in a small voice, wiping his face with his sleeve. "I was supposta watch him train today, he promised he would even show me to parry today." 

Sansa kneeled and wiped his face with her kerchief, brushing the lank brown hair from his face. "I'm afraid that good Ser Sandor is on a top secret mission, my lord," she whispered conspiratorially. "He isn't to come back until he's completed his mission and not a moment sooner," she said, patting his shoulder as he scampered up from the floor. "If you practice your letters I'm sure Sandor will see fit to show you a few more moves when he's returned." The boy whooped excitedly and ran off to find the Maester at that.

She smiled and went to the sewing room to join the three women who worked the looms. She found an hour or two of embroidery often dulled her mind when she felt a little too frantic or stressed.

The ladies worked quietly and she found the repetitive noises soothed her. When she finished two decorative panels for the hall, she set her work aside and reminded the ladies about dinner before leaving to her own chambers to look at the books of the stores until it was time for dinner.

She sat at the raised head table, conversing politely with the men and women at her sides. She enjoyed the dinner, if not for the food, for the joy she could see in the faces of the people enjoying it. People laughed longer, sung louder, and got on better for it.

The stew was thick and meaty, the bread fresh and warm. The ale wasn't as watered down, she felt a pleasant current in her head before she decided to switch to water in its stead and enjoy the rich sweet pudding being served.

She let the Maester escort her to her chambers when she felt too tired to enjoy the makeshift celebration any longer. The men were still singing the verses of bawdy songs, the children played The Maiden and the Monster without pause, the ladies chattered amongst themselves, tittering in dropped voices. She felt a deep sense of satisfaction, bidding the Maester a good night.

She barred the door and unpinned her hair slowly, brushing through it in the semi darkness- the fire was low, she preferred it after such a brightly lit revelry. She stretched to untie the laces of her bodice and pulled herself from the gown. She unrolled her stockings and piled them on her chair, heading to her bed in her soft, almost sheer shift.

She was about to crawl under the furs when a hand caught her wrist in a vice-like grip, she gasped but any sound that might have followed it was smothered by the other large hand over her mouth, almost bruising in strength. She felt the rough of a beard at her ear, lips burning her as they parted to utter a single phrase.

"Good Evening, Little bird."


	6. The Only Heaven I'll Be Sent To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, another lead up- this time in Sandor's P.O.V.
> 
> I promise next chapter is the good stuff, please don't hate me!

Sandor woke near sundown. The taste in his mouth almost made him retch again, it was fouler than he'd remember from his heavy drinking days in King's Landing. He drank from the spring, scraping his tongue. He squeezed his eyes closed and willed the headache away.

He massaged the stiffness from his hands and unclasped the cloak, folding it and setting it far from the stream. He undid his breeches and boots and crawled into the water, shivering lightly at the coldness rushing around him.

The water level came to his lower back, so he laid back and let it wash over his entire body, making sure to wash his face and hair. He wouldn't have had time to get the wenches to bring him water for a real bath, besides the fact that if the wenches knew he was in Winterfell, so would his lady. This would have to do.

He stood and shook the excess water from his body- he would have laughed at his doglike behavior if his head wasn't still throbbing. He let the last warmth of the day's sun dry and warm him.

Sandor finger combed his hair and parted it, drying off completely with the cloak in the grass before pulling his breeches and boots back on. He clasped the cloak back around his shoulders and pulled it close before starting to head back to Winterfell.

Dinnertime was the ideal time to sneak in, the hustle of the cooks and serving wenches made it somewhat easy to slip in unnoticed. He casually made his way into the kitchens, determined to have his fill of the food before his undertook the most important task.

A raunchy drinking song reached his ears from the hall as he grabbed a bowl of stew and a chunk of warm bread. The ale's potency surprised him as he finished his meal in the darkest corner of the kitchen and set the bowl aside.

Was the Little bird celebrating something? He poked his head towards the door and caught sight of her almost immediately- not quite a feat, for she sat upon the raised dais.

The flickering candle light made her glow in an almost ethereal way as she chatted with the woman on her right. She looked so beautiful it made something in his chest clench almost painfully.

He could see that the ale was beginning to take a hold of her- she was flushed and her hand rose to her mouth everytime she laughed. He was certain it was the same nervous giggle he always heard when she was drinking. His Little bird always seemed to be slightly abashed under the influence of whatever spirit she drank.

He backed into the shadows again, lest she see him. He felt something collide with his knees and he looked down at a mop of messy brown curls.

"Clegane!" the wild little pup of Sansa's favorite cook was at his knee. Sandor thanked the Gods for the rousing peal of laughter that had just gone up- it completely drowned the child's voice.

Sandor had met the child first on their walkthrough in the ruins of Winterfell. A toddler then, Robett was playing in the muck near the entrance to the kitchens. When they came upon the child, he could see Sansa tensing- he knew that she feared the child's reaction to his burns. But the child had looked upon him as if he were any other man. When they met his father Rhys, it was clear to see why. At some point in his life, the man had been attacked by bandits, his face cut and his left eye torn out. The child didn't see anything wrong with Sandor.

He had a grudging softness for the boy since then. Watching Sansa dote upon him felt like it would be his undoing, so instead he let the boy watch him train and spar whenever he had free time.

Sandor pulled the boy back into the darkness of the kitchen, silencing him with a look. He knelt to be closer to the boy's height and gave him a short nod. He began whispering in earnest. "Did you finish your secret mission?" "My mission?" Robett nodded solemnly. 

"Lady Sansa told me, don't worry, I won't tell no one! She said you wouldn't be back 'til it was done! I practiced my letters extra hard today, too!" Sandor's eyebrows knit in confusion. Of course she had needed some sort of excuse for his absence, even if only for the boy. Her explanation to the kid made it sound like a journey.  _She had not thought he would return._ He grinned and in the back of his mind he had another idea on top of his retribution. _  
_

"Lady Sansa said that when you come back you would show me more moves if I practice my letters!" "Alright boy, settle down. In two days, if you keep up with the Maester's lessons I'll show you whatever side slash or fool move you can think of." He patted the kid on the head and rose to leave.

"Clegane? Do you love Lady Sansa?" Robett fidgeted the moment he saw the look on Sandor's face. "What are you chattering on about, pup?" His voice was stern, not vicious, but the boy still looked timid. Mayhap his parents spoke a little too often and loudly of this nonsense.

"It's just that the kitchen maids...an'  _even_ the Maester says so, says Lady Sansa loves you! Pop said somethin' like "its clear as the winter is long." An' I even heard Karlynne say something about a dogs luck or whatever that means! They think you should marry her!"

Sandor took a deep breath. "You've been eavesdropping, boy?" "A little," the boy offered immediately. "But when I'm hidin' real good and someone comes in, I can't interup' them, Pop says so." He set a hand on the boy's head again.

"You haven't bothered the Lady Sansa with this utter nonsense, have you?" "No, mother says I shouldn't bother her, she's got enough t' do." He smirked. "She's bloody well right. Run along, and don't tell a soul- I'm finishing the last part of this secret mission tonight." The kid's eyes went round as saucers and he nodded before scampering away.

He made his way to her chambers, letting himself in. He rinsed his mouth with the dainty concoction she used of muddled mint and took his boots off, taking care to see that they stay out of sight and hidden. He tossed her cloak in a dark corner- it would need washing before it would be suitable for the Lady again. 

Sandor fumbled a bit in the relative darkness of the chamber- her fire had been lit by her maids at least an hour ago to warm her chambers for when she'd turn in for the night. It was burning low, something that worked well with what he had in mind. He found what he was searching for and chuckled to himself before lowering himself into the sewing chair next to her bed, cast in shadow.

He didn't have to wait long. He heard the door open, she said a few words to the Maester and then closed it before barring it like the proper little lady she was. He felt his heart begin to pound, he quieted his breath, it felt like he was preparing for battle.

Soft plinking noises on a dull surface told him she was unpinning her hair- the sound of the brush through her hair followed. She probably didn't realize she was humming- she did it when she was simply content and always seemed self-conscious when notified of her soft music. Of course the buggering tune  _would_ have to be _buggering Florian and Jonquil_. 

He licked his lips as he heard the laces of her gown creak when untied, and then one, and two swift movements- her stockings- before she set them aside. She walked into his field of vision, then, hair fallen around her pale shoulders, face probably still flushed from the drink and a shift that clung to her teats in a way that would make even the Elder Brother a sinner once more.

Just as she reached to pull back the furs on her bed he made his move. He grabbed her wrist and let her gasp before he swung her into his chest and covered her mouth, maybe a bit too tight, but the bloodrush had reached his ears and it made no difference to him. He pressed his mouth to her ear and felt his pulse quicken even further at the feel of her in his arms, against his body. 

He breathed in the mouthwatering scent of her skin. She was the one who repeatedly tried to offer herself to him- he would show her that even the most trained dogs would bite the hand that fed it, if beaten down enough. And he _would_ hear her sing _for_ him, because of him.

"Good Evening, Little bird."

 


	7. Worship in the Bedroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I'll let everyone get to reading because here comes the smut!
> 
> There will be at least one more chapter! (if not two, I may have to split it up!)

Sansa's tension eased a bit at hearing his voice but she still trembled slightly in his arms. He wanted to control himself, to pace himself. He found that he could not and nipped her earlobe, causing her to shiver- he murmured in a low voice "Anxious, Little bird? I can't imagine why that would be... What's the worst that could happen to a pretty little young maiden? _Besides_ being tied down and _fucked_?"

His hand released her wrist to instead cup one supple teat, pinching the nipple through the thin shift. She arched against his hand, he could feel such pretty little puffs of her breath on his hand that still was clasped over her mouth.

"That buggering yellow dress, the one that fat Lord Manderly sent you-" his mouth moved lower as he crouched to press his lips to her neck, "You will have to wear that high collared trifle tomorrow... though it will make no difference... the castle will hear you _sing_ for me tonight, Sansa." And he sunk his teeth into her skin, tongue working underneath their grasp, tasting the slight saltiness of her. He growled his pleasure as she squirmed against him in his arms.

He registered her muffled cry against his hand, it only served to send a chill down his spine and make his cock stand at attention. He removed his teeth and kissed the red skin of her neck tenderly- the mark he left made him satisfied.

"Do you like that my bites and kisses will leave marks Little bird? Once I've gone these will be a fading reminder to you of this night." She tensed unpleasantly in his arms, she drew a sharp breath through her nose. "Oh yes, you enjoy the first words... but not that last bit, is that the truth of it girl?" He laughed darkly- she could not respond, could not chirp any empty courtesies, not with his hand over her mouth.

She wanted to beg him to stay. She wanted to apologize for what she'd done. He knew her most intimately out of anyone and so he knew these things to be true. He wasn't through with having this fun, however.

Sandor rolled the taut nipple with his other hand again, trying to tease her from her upset state. She reacted almost reluctantly, but she did react. It wasn't enough. He needed to touch her. 

He marched her close to the bed and stopped short of falling on top of her on the feather mattress. The idea had its merits, but he had a specific goal in mind.

"I'm going to let your mouth go, girl. I don't want one peep from you. Not until I give you permission. Nod if you understand." She nodded and he dropped his hand, turning her to face him. 

"If you want to speak to me, I will allow it after you answer me-" he held a hand up to stop her from speaking before he named his conditions. "First you will answer me a question. You are well aware that I have no favor among the buggering Lords of the North who have and _will_ be the biggest contributors to Winterfell's success. In fact, they would send me on my way back South if they had the command. The only thing that would save my head from an immediate spike is that I brought you back safe. Would you still have me at your side regardless of the consequences?" She opened her mouth to fully and delicately enunciate her position and he quieted her with a look. She instead nodded desperately.

"Aye girl, that's all the answer I need from you right now. You will now do as I tell you and I will, of course, let you know when to explain all the things you wish to tell me so badly right this bloody instant that you're gnawing on that lip- _if you don't stop that you'll bloody well find yourself on your back without your maidenhead, girl, believe that and stop that this instant_."

Her mouth fell open in shock, he could see the flush spread over her skin at his words. Her eyes darkened with lust and he clenched his hands to stop himself from rutting her on the spot. 

"Get on the bed and lie on your back." She did as he bid, her hands fluttered over her stomach nervously. She picked at her shift and watched him, her eyes practically glowing in the fading light. He made his way to the fire and stoked it back to life, adding a few more logs. He would need to see her face.

He returned to her and got onto the bed himself, kneeling on the end of the bed, near her feet. She peered up at him from the flat of her back and he smirked at her. "Arms up, girl." She raised her hands and he leaned over her to make her close her hands on the posts of her bed. "You'll keep your hands here or I'll grab the leather you used last night." 

He pulled the dagger from the waistband of his breeches. "You saw fit to destroy my favorite tunic, girl. Turnabout's fair play." He flipped the dagger around and lifted the hem of her shift. It slipped through the material just as if it weren't there. He pushed the sides of her shift down, exposing her fair skin and lovely teats. 

"Wearing small clothes... I suppose you weren't planning on seducing anyone tonight, then?" The dark look that crossed her face made him laugh, he laid a hand on her thigh and sobered a bit. "A jape, Sansa. Calm down. You're tense girl. You said it best once... I won't hurt you. _Much_." That sent the flush across her face once more and he reveled in it. 

He leaned over her body again, tossing the dagger some place he wouldn't step on it later. He kissed her shins, covered in light and soft hair, his hands followed him, he paused over the small clothes and delighted just a bit in how she clenched her thighs together. He kissed her over the fabric of the small clothes, right where she would feel it most. He then continued up her body, her hip, her belly button, her ribs, the hollow between her teats and then each teat by itself. He sucked them in turn, fingers toying where his mouth was not. 

He would have gladly lay there suckling her divine teats like a babe, but there was work to do, and Sansa had started to mewl at his ministrations. He kissed her right teat and moved upwards, nipping at her collar bone. He would make very sure that Manderly's buggering overly-modest yellow dress was the only one she could resort to. She moaned softly, he looked down to her thighs, sure enough they were pressed tight together. 

Her head was turned to the side, eyes closed, hands clenching the posts dutifully. He gently nudged her chin so she would look at him. 

He kissed her then. It wasn't a tender caress that Ladies at court loved to titter about or sing about in the songs- it was a fierce devouring kiss, full of the crushing feeling in Sandor's chest and the heat behind his eyes. He wanted to give her a good kiss, a gentle one, but the way her hands wound around him he didn't think she'd prefer that any way. It chipped away at his resolve, he could feel his cock on her hip, so close, too close to her willing cunt for his mind right now.

He pulled from the kiss gasping for breath, watching her pant as she blinked up at him.

"Hands on the post again. _Now_." She obeyed, her chest rising and falling with her short breaths. 

He lowered himself to her hips again, fingering the lace and ribbons on the pointless fabric. He wanted to make her frantic with need. He traced the outside of the small clothes and dipped back inward. Her muscles twitched as she clenched her thighs again. He smirked, moving his hands still. "Relieving some pressure down here?" Her face burned and he laughed at what a polite little Lady she was behaving like. Especially after last night.

"Open your legs, Sansa." He helped her when she seemed unable or too shy. He continued to trace the outside hem of the fabric, and then made his way to her inner thigh. He abruptly grazed his thumb against the tiny nub that would send her reeling. Her head fell back and her mouth opened in surprise. 

He repeated the action twice more, finally getting the small gasp that he wanted. "Are you truly afraid to voice your pleasure, girl? Even after last night?" He began to trace the the outline on her skin again before he lowered his hand between her thighs and pressed a finger against her opening. She gasped and arched where she lay and Sandor began to vary his touches.

He skimmed the fabric around her mound, dipped fingers inside of her (as far as he could get with the small clothes between them), grazed her clit, dragged a finger down the inside of her nether lips and dipped back in, drawing increasingly frustrated cries as well as wetness from her. She was almost wailing in earnest when he stopped again.

He settled his fore and middle finger at her entrance, pressing in lightly, the fabric of the small clothes was soaked through. He began to rock his fingers into her, as shallow as they could go, and every third or fourth pulse he grazed her nub, circling his two fingers at random. She began to cry out, thrashing in the sheets and clenching her hands on the posts until her knuckles and fingers were white. It was too much and too little all at once. He wouldn't give her nub the attention it needed, and he certainly wouldn't find that sweet spot inside of her without removing the barrier between them.

He touched her at a slow pace, quickening when her breath did, but always halting when she seemed to be getting close. She cried out in frustration and he kissed her hip, grazing her clit again.

He decided to really tease her, pushing his fingers between her folds. He began to nudge repeatedly at the nub, not making direct contact, watching as her body was still for a moment, then her breathing picked up, her hips pushing up to meet his touch. She gasped steadily, her breathy voice rising into begging. She wanted to reach her climax. She knew he was denying it to her.

He frigged her closer and closer to the edge, he wanted to watch her fall apart at his fingers but he wanted more for her to beg him. He kept his fingers at a constant pace, her legs began to quiver and her mouth was open in a silent, pleasured wail. He stopped and held her legs apart, he would not have her forcing her orgasm by pressing her legs together.

"Sandor, please," she whined, looking delectable in her state- hair a mess, eyes fever bright, face flushed with pleasure. He pinned her with his stare and she looked apologetic for speaking out of turn.

"Now I want a truthful answer girl- one word. Can I rip this buggering lace and ribbon contraption off of you?" She nodded her head and he shook his head. "I want to hear it from your mouth."

"Yes," and her eyes seemed to beg, _Please._

He chuckled darkly. "Don't worry girl. We're not done here, not by a long shot." He was ignoring his own aching need, but this felt more important than anything. He would see his own pleasure later. He frigged her gently through the fabric, drawing a weak moan from her lips. 

He tore the small clothes off of her with a growl, he didn't care where they landed, just that they were gone. He touched the dark red curls on her mound, hunger nearly over taking him.

"Do you know what I'm going to do you, Sansa?" She shook her head, watching him with apprehension in her eyes. He smiled and kissed her hip, easing one finger inside her. She opened her legs for him and he chuckled.

"So eager, Little bird. Gods, but you slay me... Here I am between Gods-sent thighs, hard and ready to give into you like the loyal dog I am, damn me..." He shook his head and began to move his forefinger slowly in and out of her wet cunt, he would bet that his one finger surpassed her two fingers in length and width, she reacted as such, arching and tensing in the same gasp.

He lowered down onto his knees and elbow. "I'm going to make you forget everything... and everyone. Your only thought will be to beg me for more. I will oblige you Little bird. I am going to start...here," and his tongue slipped between her lips, he licked at the nub as she trembled underneath him. She had been aroused by his words, the juices flowing from her cunt begged to be lapped and he pulled his hand away regrettably. 

He scooped his arms under her thighs and held them open, her arse nearly pressed flush to his collar bone. He parted her folds with his deft fingers, pressing against the nub as his tongue lapped at her opening, he lovingly slurped and kissed her folds and delved his tongue in her opening as she bucked against his mouth. He sweetened the pleasure, pressing his forefinger back inside the wet heat, and beckoning to her orgasm with a come-hither motion. 

She was driven over the edge at the contact with some place inside of her, he held her steady as she trembled and called his name, pleading for something she did not know what to call. He smiled against her, kissing her gently as he stopped touching the nub and withdrew his forefinger. She was much too coherent for his liking. He would have his Bird feverish and unable to walk.

First, though, he needed to adjust or remove his breeches. The pain of the restriction was enough to drive away some of the enjoyment at watching Sansa fall apart. He sat back on his legs, unlacing his breeches and letting them open. His painfully hard cock hung out and he gave it two quick pumps to try to relieve some of the pressure in his balls. He wouldn't let simply seeing Sansa find her climax drive him to his.

His empty orgasm the night before had left him feeling sore and partially emptied. He meant to have his pleasure and for true this time.

She gazed up at him and his breath caught in his chest. He could hardly believe his luck. He had come here tonight telling himself that he had only truly half decided on what he would do, but the stirring look in her eyes almost unmanned him. The love there was unadulterated. That he could give her joy by doing something he possibly enjoyed more than she, it was an odd feeling.

It was the kind of feeling that made him want to pledge that she could keep him chained in her bed chambers and feed him table scraps for the rest of his fucking life if she let him have this, for all he fucking cared. Sandor Clegane sung no songs but in this moment he believed every last one of them in their fucking beautiful words and buggering promises of what love could be.  _'All men are fools, and all men are knights, where women are concerned_.' Florian and Jonquil. Sansa Stark had made a sodding fool of him but he wouldn't have changed it as much as it made him feel helpless.

He set his jaw in determination. He would see himself through his goal. He could fall apart at the seams and talk about the consequences later. He wanted her undone; he wanted the deathless death for her. He wanted to look into her eyes, pupils dilated with his fucking pleasure, and to peer into the depths and see nothing but him reflected back. Undone just as he had been last night.

 He leaned forward to kiss her and she accepted him readily, forgetting his conditions as she cupped his face. He would punish her later- for now he enjoyed her mouth, so eagerly kissing him. He lowered a hand between them to touch her again, slipping his tongue in her mouth just as two of his fingers slipped back inside her ready cunt. She moaned against his mouth, slowly moving her hips to adjust to the larger disruption. 

It was her wanton kisses and her hips desperate movements that made him realize- if she willed it, he would voraciously rid her of her maidenhead. They had a few very important things to discuss- things he didn't think were wise to ignore in favor of fucking. The logical part of his mind wanted to stop and get a straight answer out of her before his will broke and he was begging at her lap for her cunt. He doubted that he could deny her if she asked him to bed her. 

He broke the kiss to let her breathe, and in part to watch the pleasure on her face. Her moans and the little rocking motion her hips made were bound to drive him mad. He felt half rabid already. He tried to preach control, tried to take a thrice-damned cleansing breath but all he could smell was  _her._

He pushed a strand of hair from her face and kissed her shoulder, biting up the delicate flesh, leaving pink and red splotches up the expanse to her neck. He brushed his thumb against her nub, his two fingers still frigging her dutifully as her cries became more and more vocal and desperate. She held onto him, rocking her hips against his hand. Her legs bent at the knees, nestling him between her thighs.

He felt another taut string on his frayed restraint snap. It would be so simple to lower himself down to take her. The vile need washed over him, burning him from the inside- his free hand clenched the sheets and he concentrated on the task at hand- pleasing her, not the other way around. Not yet.

She was nearing her peak, her teats bounced with every twitching thrust of her hips, her mouth was open to greedily gasp at the air in between the exquisite cries she was giving him. His resolve was utterly wavering when she cried out his name again and again, begging him " _Please,_ " and " _Don't stop, oh Gods don't-don't-_ " it was going to be his undoing. 

She trembled beautifully underneath him, he loved how her legs quaked, how her eyebrows drew together, her mouth quavering as she drew a breath and moaned almost simultaneously. Her hands pulled on his shoulders, pulling him towards her. His cock twitched longingly- could she know how easy it would be to bury himself inside of her?

She bucked her hips wildly as she climaxed. She sang for him at the top of her lungs as his fingers greedily coaxed her further and further over the edge. " _Sandor, Gods...Oh Gods, please, please....Don't- Don't-"_ her honey filled begging was going to be the death of him, the way that she stuttered on some words as if she'd lost her place reading aloud from some scroll but how it was really her coming undone. 

" _Look at me_ ," he demanded in a low rasp, his voice strangled. She did, her eyes cloudy as she cried her pleasure. And there he found what he desired- there was nothing reflecting back at him besides himself and her pleasure. She gasped and her head fell back as another wave of pleasure rolled forth from his thumb's touch.

He eased her down from her pleasure, not completely withdrawing his fingers but gently touching her in the right ways. Her intense climax had crashed into her much like a large wave- now the smaller waves lapped at the edges of her, gentler and gentler, drawing on the song that filled his heart. He had wanted this song all along- one that told him that he alone could give her this pleasure. And that he alone was the one she wanted in her bed. Mayhap he was being a sentimental fool, but it stuck on his heart none the less.

She contracted most appealingly around his fingers again and again, he kissed her and let her slowly come back to him. She was shaking so badly he was sure she would put them both off the mattress with the vibrations.

He removed his fingers from her warm cunt- they were wrinkled slightly from the constant wetness and he let her watch as he licked them like the dog he was. He kissed her, she simply whimpered against his mouth and deepened the kiss. He moved to cup her face with his hands, resting on his elbows, his knees outside of hers- surrounding her with him.

He noticed she was crying then, he thumbed the tears away, concern lighting an anxiety in his belly. "Sansa?" he rumbled gently, "Little bird, talk to me, please."

"Sandor," she sobbed, "Don't leave me, please." He almost laughed. She'd dwelt on that little shit of a teasing sentence he'd uttered. "I have no bloody intentions of leaving you to another, Sansa." 

He kissed her cheeks, brushing more tears away. "Stop this crying," She choked out a weak laugh. "I cannot help it... you were...so good, I truly cannot help it." He laughed too, kissing her. "Silly bird," he sat back on his legs again, his aching cock making him groan slightly.

Her eyes took in the sight of him, half naked and manhood standing at rapt attention. Her eyes looked heated. His first instinct was to bark a harsh jape at her and cover himself self consciously. He reminded himself that she supposedly enjoyed him. "Sandor," she called, too gently. It raised his hackles.

"Girl," he warned, almost desperately. There would be no going back if she said what he knew was sitting on the edge of that little pink tongue. He could not hope to stop himself from taking what he wanted if asked. Last night he had been broken for true by her like she'd said, broken open with no hope to live without what she offered. There would be no hesitation if she said- "Please, lay with me." And when he closed his eyes tight to fight off the burning behind them, "Please _fuck_ me."


	8. No Masters or Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is smut, but with fluff as well.
> 
> Happy ending? I have to write a wrap up chapter, so stay tuned!
> 
> Comments have driven this fic so far beyond what I set out to write. Thanks to the lovely people showing this work love!!! <3

"Gods Sansa, you'll be the death of me yet," he put his head in his hands, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes until he saw stars. He thought of last night- when she first kissed him and he'd reeled backwards against the chair. He had thought he was facing a challenge then. His wanton mistress had returned from the night previous.

She peeled his hands from his face and kissed him. "I meant what I said, I would have you beside me regardless of the consequences." She said it quietly, resolutely. Her words were always his undoing. He pushed her backwards onto the bed, lips on hers hungrily. His hands fondled her teats and he brought a knee between her thighs to provide a little friction for her. She sighed and closed her thighs around his knee.

He nipped her collarbone and neck as he murmured, "Really determined to have me fuck you mercilessly, aren't you girl?" He pressed his lips to hers and registered shock and arousal when she bit his lower lip and kissed him hungrily. 

"That is my intention," she sighed sweetly, grabbing the post- her teats heaving most in a most alluring manner. "Shall I be silent again,  _ser?"_ She then wriggled her hips so that he could feel her, warm and ready against his thigh.

"Or shall I sing for you?" And she began to truly sing, a tune he had not thought to hear from her. A truly blasphemous and downright crudely explicit tune- a song sung only by desperate men the night before a siege that promised better odds of dying alone than enjoying the song's promise- the spoils of a city sacked. This particular verse from the lips of his Bird was about coming upon the Maiden herself and helping her rid herself of the burden of her innocence. To put it nicely, he noted. 

Hearing it in her lowered voice, rough from crying and begging and wailing in all sorts of ways she hadn't been accustomed to- it sent chills up and down his spine. "You truly test every single drop of control I have in me. Do you want me to be merciless? To hurt you while I seek only the end of my pleasure?" She raised one eyebrow. 

"Might be I would enjoy a "merciless" fuck," she looked up at him, he could see her there, underneath the bravado, behind the coquettish words- his Little bird, his Sansa, looking back at him. "With you, Sandor. Only with you." She moved her hips up again, his leg tensed between hers. He closed his eyes and let out a breath. He'd been fighting himself this entire night. Him versus himself and Sansa, both pleading with him to take her. 

"If I do this it  _will_ hurt. Likely the whole time. Nothing would displease me more than hurting you. I don't want that for you. For us. Never have." He met her eyes- they filled with tears and a tenderness that threatened his mindset. He offered her a weak half smile- it must have been a hideous sight but she smiled upon his half burned visage as if he were Heavens-sent. 

"I'm sure it will hurt. At first. I trust you to make it so much more... I have never known pleasure like you've given me tonight. How could my hands hope to do the things you've done to me? They have never felt half as good. I trust you to both fuck me mercilessly _and_ find our mutual pleasure." He groaned and dropped his head again.

"I swear I'll never recover from you, Sansa." She didn't move, but said, "And I, you." 

 He kissed her once more before lowering down her body. She may have been pleasured and relaxed but she would need a bit more to accommodate him. He knelt between her legs, eyes sweeping over her body, bared to him. He gave her nipple a teasing pinch before lowering his mouth to her sweet cunt and having a taste. He worked her into a bit of a frenzy. She thrashed against the pillows and clutched his hair, her own natural wetness mixing with his saliva.

He removed his mouth with a wet slurp, sitting up as she objected to his sudden departure. The sound died on her lips as he pulled his breeches low enough to stroke his length freely. His eyes lowered as he massaged the head of his cock against her entrance, watching her face briefly as she reacted and moaned low at the sensation. He grit his teeth, trying to summon some semblance of self control. 

He pressed the tip of his shaft inside her- she felt heavenly. He took a deep breath and held it. He could tell that even that small motion felt like an intrusion. Her brow was furrowed and she looked as if she might wince if he tried to move forward. "Sandor," she practically whispered, "please continue. I know it will hurt. It won't always, though." He took a steadying breath and began to touch her, tease her, anything to relax her and let her enjoy this as much as he was.

He was more than half-sheathed when he felt what must have been her maidenhead. He stopped there and fucked her slowly, shallowly to let her adjust to his girth. He toyed with the pearl at the apex of her womanhood, watching her relax from the rigid tension that had a hold on her. Now she began to sigh and moan prettily, squirming pleasantly underneath him.

"Gods....Sandor," she cried, and he kissed her again and mumbled against her mouth, "The Seven be damned Little bird, only one of us is here listening." His fingers bid her to peak  _again_ , though he very much feared that she might be too exhausted to do so again- she shone with sweat, her eyes with fatigue. He was determined to make it at least bearable for her, if not pleasurable.

She was cumming, he could feel her contracting around most of his cock. He ached to thrust and ride her orgasm out with her, just as he had the night previous- though he had no chance of being buried inside her last night- here he was half there, feeling her reacting to him. It was intoxicating. He groaned brokenly, holding himself just against her maidenhead, making small motions to and fro, always just managing to nudge the barrier.

Sandor felt he could hold onto his resolve until her hips reared back and then upward- the wanton Little bird broke  _herself on him._

He let out a strangled cry, she had taken him inside her fully, she was clutching his shoulders, hips still bucking underneath him. She was, for all intents and purposes, fucking him. Her orgasm still squeezed him as she took her pleasure, rocking harder and harder as she cried.

He removed his hand from her mound and wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him as he leaned on both elbows to move with her. White hot pleasure built in his lower back and groin, he moved slowly though his body roared for so much more. 

"Gods damn you Sansa...Tell me if it hurts," he hissed, rocking steadily harder into her. He could take no more, could not hold himself back. Hoarse with bliss, she shuddered underneath him. "It stings but...it doesn't truly hurt....Don't stop," she pleaded desperately. 

He pushed himself up on his palms, groaning low and withdrew against her cries of injustice. He chuckled low before thrusting forward again, her hiccuped cry of surprise and pleasure burned him in quite the best way. He kissed her, relishing the tight hold her cunt had on him. He'd never felt such sweet agony, watching his cock bob in and out of her, slick with her pleasure. She arched back and he gripped her waist, raising up on his knees to fully enjoy her body as he drove into her.

He watched her rosy teats bounce, grunting his desire. He palmed one, fucking her steadily as she wept her enjoyment in a scratchy voice. He lowered his hips, adjusting the angle of his thrust, tilting more upwards than in, where his finger had beckoned her over the edge and he was rewarded with a wail. He fucked her relentlessly, drinking in her cries greedily as he hit that sweet spot over and over.

Her body was lithe in his arms, she held no rigidity or sign of pain. She opened her legs rhythmically and seemed to draw him in deeper and deeper. She clawed at his shoulders, sure to leave marks. He kissed her then, pulling her against his chest again. He slowed his pace, moving his hips deliberately to draw the most pleasure out of her. 

She was frantic, just as he'd desired earlier. She was coiling with some inner tension, he could feel her becoming tighter around him and it drove every coherent thought from his mind. He fisted a hand in her hair, purposefully moving his cock inside her. He pressed his lips to her brow, neck, ear, mouth. He was overwhelmed- not just by his impending peak. She was everywhere. Her legs around his waist, kissing him when his mouth was close, arms around his shoulders. 

He realized he couldn't call this fucking, or buggering, or rutting. He was making love to his lovely Lady Sansa. Happiness swelled inside of him at his good fortune. He knew he'd officially crossed some threshold and become a fool. He may as well wear motley for the rest of his days for how little he cared that he would do anything and everything to make her happy. Just to hear her hum a song during her sewing or brushing down her horse, to see her eyes and nose wrinkle in delight just at the buggering sight of him while she went about her errands.

He buried his face in her hair, he may as well hide his ruined face when the burning sensation started in his eyes again. Buggering, thrice-damned girl, making him into a sodding love-sick pup.

"I love you Sandor," it was a whisper, part whimper. He squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his embrace, his thrusts were smooth but tender. He felt his pulse quicken, his abs taut and his balls tighten, he groaned unevenly. He had never felt his impending release come on so strong, he choked out her name. She cupped his chin, kissing him as he rolled his hips jerkily. 

"Sansa," he breathed, kissing her hair, trailing to her lips. "Sansa," It was almost a prayer, she kissed him again, tears rolling from the corners of her eyes. He didn't close his eyes though his peak was upon him. He drove into her, hitting that spot, once, twice, he felt his cock twitching pleasurably. He moaned, head dropping on her shoulder. She moved her hips with his, he couldn't pull away. He needed this just as badly as she did.

"Sandor," he willed his head off her shoulder, she wanted to look upon him. He was moving his hips slower and slower, his seed spilling deep inside her. Blue met dark grey and he kissed her gently, hand on the side of her face, thumb tracing the corner of her lip, he wanted to drown in her eyes. He was spent, still resting between her thighs, wrapped in this moment as long as she allowed.

He wanted to stay like this, chest bursting at the sodding happiness he'd never felt before. She'd had the right of it. He hadn't allowed it before, but there she had been, patient for years. Waiting for him. She brushed a tear from his cheek, and he wanted to laugh it off, make it a jape, anything to distract from himself. He was a man who hated weakness. Especially in himself. She was the biggest weakest he'd ever have.

"Seven help me... I love you Sansa." 


	9. No Sweeter Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it! I had some trouble wrapping this up as it originally was two smut chapters without plot, haha
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone who read and commented and kudos'd this fic, it means the world to me!

Sansa woke sometime in the Hour of the Wolf, very warm and slightly sore. Large arms curled around her waist, loosely gripped in sleep.

She sat up, careful not to disrupt him. She could see very little in the dim light given off by the dying coals in her fireplace, though she could still make out his face, peaceful in sleep. It warmed her heart to see him so. They'd had a challenging few days, but if he had been sincere in his words (and he  _never_ lied) it was worth every single blessed moment of anguish.

She had him at last, he'd accepted her words and opened up in return.

As she curled back beside him, she felt almost radiant with joy. She suppressed the swelling giddiness inside of her that threatened to spill over into giggles when she felt his hands pull her back to him, possessive, warm, and entirely _hers_. She had known happiness, but this was perfection. It was bliss.

Dawn's light woke her next.

She stretched to find her bed empty and sat up, mouth undoubtedly drawing into a sincere pout, eyes searching. Her maids were readying her tub for a bath and had set out her rations to break her fast. On the chair was the dress to be worn for the day- a yellow wool thing- the modestly high collared gift from Lord Manderly. 

They averted their eyes kindly when she drew close for the bath. She went to the glass first to see what she already suspected. The red marks on her collar bone and neck were unmissable. She cleared her throat politely and stepped into the bath, letting herself be cleaned.

The maid closest to her gown spoke up timidly. "Excuse me, M'Lady, but Clegane ordered us to...dispose of the bed sheets.. if it please you," Sansa nodded at the girl, looking then the maid who was stoking the fire. "I suppose everything is out in the open now, so it makes little sense to dance around the subject... Do you know when he left here?" Her words were matter-of-fact and soft.

"A lil' before you woke, M'Lady. He instructed us t' bring you food t' break your fast and water t' bathe. The dress was here when he let us in, he instructed us very... stern-like that it would be the dress you were t' wear today... He also warned us if he heard any... "unbecoming" chatter that we'd be findin' ourselves on the wrong side of the Wall for the Others," the girl sniffed almost indignantly.

The girl folding up the soiled linens spoke up again- "M'Lady treats us better than our own kin, we wouldn't be undoin' that for no gossip," Sansa smiled in a restrained manner. "I'm sure despite his... best wishes, Sandor will hear much unbecoming chatter. I shall see that he knows that it hasn't come from my ladies, you will have been here all morning. He is like to hear something untoward before he returns from the yard." She blushed, and looked at her hands underneath the bathwater.

The oldest of her maids, Leona stood behind her, still scrubbing her skin. She'd been in Winterfell since Sansa had returned with Sandor. She was hurt travelling at some point and still forced herself to clean and cook and carry baskets of turnips, planks of wood, anything. Sansa took her on as a maid, instructing her to bring her food at dawn and at noon, to wash her and braid her hair. She enjoyed the woman's presence, it was almost motherly. Her candor was something Sansa loved.

Leona cleared her throat. "Beggin' your pardons, M'Lady, but I been 'ere since you returned t' Winterfell with Clegane. Rough 'e may be, but 's clear the man cares for you as much as you do 'im." She tucked her lip up and shook her head. "Good to see you 'appy, is all," she murmured, though it seemed like she wanted to say more.

"Thank you, Leona," she practically whispered. Her heart ached a familiar hurt. She wished for her Mother- her advice, her reassuring smiles, the look on her face when she was telling Sansa something serious, anything, but she would never have it again. She sighed heavily to fight the tears and clenched and unclenched her hands beneath the water. 

She knew what the "right" thing to do was: she should marry a Lord in good standing and have _his_ funds, _his_ soldiers, _his House_ raise Winterfell. It would be so much easier. Sansa Stark would not have that. She couldn't imagine trading herself, her life towards something that would help Winterfell, yes, but after Winterfell was raised, it would still own her. Her people were strong- she wanted Westeros to see that.

They could rebuild with some help, but she thought it seemed counter productive to have scores of strangers do what she knew they could do. She would do anything to help Winterfell and its residents without indebting themselves too much.

To discuss the potential ramifications of _not_ marrying for the sole reason of joining another House to strengthen herself, she'd had many discussions with the Steward and Maester. Frank, upfront, and to the point discussions. Mayhaps they hadn't liked what they heard of her wishes and intentions, but they were honest in return.

They conceded that without outside help, Winterfell wouldn't have come to know the large strides in progress they had already taken. They agreed that marrying into one of the remaining, loyal Houses would hasten the success of their rebuilding, but they also agreed that the Lords who remained loyal to Winterfell would likely remain so whether or not she married into one of their Houses.

"A Stark must remain in Winterfell," The Maester had remarked, as a final point. "We also must keep in account that Bran and Rickon are alive and may return for their birth right," The Steward added.

Sansa said quietly, "If Rickon and Bran do not return before Sandor finally listens to me I have asked Jon to come back to Winterfell should it come to any ugliness with the bannermen. He was reluctant, very much so, but he agreed, should it _truly_ come to that. They say Robb named him Heir before he was murdered. Let anyone protest my decisions- Jon will become Lord Stark and it will matter naught."

She found herself lost in these thoughts as the water began to take a chill. She bid her maids dry her and she ate quickly as they tended to her hair.

Dressed in the over-warm and itchy gown, she began her errands of the day. She knew that it was likely that her rendezvous with Sandor was well known by now, though if her people whispered of it, they kept it from her. She wondered with a sneaky smile if Sandor had been through the entire castle, warning people of upsetting the Lady. As if that would do either of them good where rumors and gossip were concerned.

She was poring over the books in the Library Tower, there was good light to be had before noon-time. She could also hear the clashing of swords and swearing of men in the Yard. It helped her concentration none, yet it soothed her. She rose to look out a window, looking for Sandor.

He wasn't currently engaged in a spar, but he was watching the two men who were. They must have been the men he was training, for he stopped them with a few roughly barked words and set them on each other again, their postures and movements changed.

She smiled, chastising herself for acting the part of the foolish girl she had once been, sighing dreamily at the men fighting in the Yard. Yet this time, it wasn't some empty shell of a comely knight. It was her beloved sworn-shield and non-ser.

She set the books down, making a note on some parchment of her place. She would attend this task longer on the morrow. 

She crossed the Yard out of sight, heading to the kitchens briefly, then stole away to his chambers. She knew his daily schedule well. He would next see to the kennels, have a quick bath and return to his chambers for silent reflection. He should be used to having his schedule waylaid by now, she decided, and began to stoke the almost-cold coals in the grate.

She had the fire warming his chamber before she knew it, and lit a few candles- in the early days of rebuilding he hadn't made a fuss about which chambers he received, just that they be close enough to still maintain his duty of protecting her. The result was a chamber with one small window, not placed for optimum light.

She knew this troubled Sandor none- he was in his chamber for his private reflection times and for sleep. Elsewise he was outdoors- hunting (game or bands of thieves), training, helping the kennel master, seeing to the arms in the armory, tending and riding Stranger to prevent the foul-tempered courser from truly causing troubles for the stable hand. 

He is likely just on time for his return to his chambers. He clambers inside, closing the door before kicking his boots off ceremoniously. It has been the space of a few seconds when he notices how well tended his chamber is- she realizes with a pang that he and many others do not return to warm chambers, candles lit, food waiting in case they should be hungry.

"Sansa," he mutters, though he can not see her, does not yet know she is still lingering in the shadows, though he possibly suspects it.

"Spying tends to work better if you haven't comfied the place up, girl," he rasps with a laugh. She smiles to herself in the dark, fearing that he might hear even the crinkle of her mouth.

"Also tends to help if I can't bloody smell you," he says low, possibly just to himself.

"Shall I come find you, girl?" he continues in a low voice. He laughs again. "Good girl, thought you'd answer me for a second. Brightened up considerably since I've known you,"

She bites back a retort at his teasing bait and scrunches up her nose.

He ducks his head to peer underneath his bed and grabbed at her dress. "Girl, you couldn't have chose a worse hiding spot in the entir-" he almost gets the word out before pulling out the yellow, far too itchy dress, empty of one Sansa Stark. He shudders involuntarily.

He pulls back the lumpy covers on his bed, stuffed with rolled up sheets- he'd thought it too obvious a moment ago. There he finds her shift and small clothes. He growls then, and it tremors pleasantly up and down her spine. "Naked in my bed chambers, Sansa..." He let out a breath, grasping the rough wood of his bed post.

"I'd wager you didn't know I came here so quickly to fuck myself into my fist at the memory of you last night, girl," and that does it, she gasps, her need sudden and urgent. His deep growl as he marches to the corner to retrieve her makes her whimper aloud to him. 

She kisses him readily, matching his hunger. He lifts and presses her against the wall- she can feel both the slight chill of the stone and the warmth of the hot springs that run through the keep, though not as insistent far away from the main family chambers.

His hand fists in her hair, the other palming her bottom lovingly. She opens her thighs wider, the soreness she can readily bear- the need for him she cannot. He bucks against her sweet warmth, his insistent hardness makes her mouth water. He lets go of her hair reluctantly, breaking the kiss and fumbling with his breeches.  

"Gods damn you, Sansa, I'm a green boy at your damned feet," he hisses, snapping the leather laces on his breeches in frustration.

She kisses him consolingly, willing him to slow down. He breathes hard, then nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck, lips making consistent contact with her skin.

He rocks his hips against her, breaths shuddering. Sansa angles her hips needily and lets her head lean against the stone wall as he grinds against her  _slowly._ It is somehow better than the previous night, she thinks, though the thought is on the hazy edge of her fading consciousness.

She grips his shoulders and finds his mouth with hers, tongue against his in a most unhurried manner. His hips roll at that moment and she cries into his mouth. He  _must_ feel how wet she is, she thought petulantly. He might be wondering if she's up to what he wants. She can feel him, half out of his breeches, there but not entirely  _there._  

"Sandor," he closed his eyes as if the soft tone in her voice were fake. As if he couldn't possibly be holding The Lady Sansa Stark against the walls of his chambers and preparing to take her for the  _second time._  She feels a rush of affection with some sadness in it. "Look at me," she says, rubbing the stubble on his chin.

His eyes find hers almost sheepishly. She grins at him lasciviously, rocking her hips gently to remind him of his state of arousal. 

He groaned and braced himself against her as she rocked against him, her hands attempting to push his breeches down. He assisted her with the hand that wasn't supporting her. Sandor took a uneven breath and pressed his length against her entrance, his eyes flickering up to her mouth that opened in a silent gasp of pleasure, then her eyes, which locked on his.

He leaned his forehead on hers and kept eye contact as he eased into her woman's place. The burning longing in his gaze made it all the more intense. She fought to keep her eyes open at the exquisite sensation of him. He let out a ragged breath, it mixed with hers and she couldn't help the small moan that escaped her mouth. 

He withdrew, tongue wetting his lips as he gave her a searing look before thrusting back inside of her. She hiccuped her sudden cry- " _Aah_ ," as he hit  _whatever_ spot made her insides liquefy and quiver all at once. He grinned wolfishly and repeated the action thrice. Her legs shook, her eyes were watering, she closed them once, briefly, needing to keep the eye contact that was the zenith of their connection.

" _Again,_ " she urged, nails raking down his shoulder blades. He obeyed, fucking her to near oblivion in a few forceful strokes. She forced her legs further apart as she felt the tightening in her entire body, their angle looked oddly impossible to her. "Fuck, Sansa," he groaned, eyes still on hers. She couldn't really tell from his expression but she thought he might be close as well.  _  
_

He kissed her then, grabbing a fistful of her hair. He tugged it gently and she moaned low, the slight pain serving to excite her. He let it go, gripping both of her hips, pulling her slightly away from the wall. Her weight rested on her shoulders against the stone. This would need to end soon she knew, or she would be in pain from the position.

She moved with him, the pace of their sex unhurried and steadily bringing both of them to the brink of their climaxes. He helps her find hers first, releasing one hip to nudge at her clit as he pumps steadily into her inviting cunt. She cries out, her legs jerk restlessly in the air. Sandor drives into her eagerly, finding his own pleasure with a subdued, gratified groan.

He carries her to the bed, his cock softening inside her, his seed inside her making her squirm with illicit and almost guilty pleasure. He withdraws, lays her down and kisses over her heart, brushing some loose hair from her face.

He settles himself beside her on the bed, lying on his back, trying to catch his breath. "Gods girl, but you make this old dog's heart race..." he rasped in an amused tone. "Cock's always twitching around you, like I'm again the green boy that just discovered the damn thing- though that's not pretty enough for you to hear," he laughs then. "You needs hear it, won't hide the truth from you, never have." She rolls over to him, her breasts brush his arm and the muscles there jump.

"I'd say that stretches the truth a bit, you've concealed an important truth for me for two years... Tell me: would you have me, Sandor? Entirely? As more than some woman to warm your bed?" His mouth flops open at that. "Bloody hells Sansa, you've never been that to me, could never-" She silences him with a gentle kiss. "Would you have me? Would you have me for your Lady Wife?" She shook her head firmly at his sudden scowl and how he opens his mouth to possibly lecture her.

"It was meant as a yes or no question,  _Ser._ " The glint in her eyes is kind, yet teasing. She does enjoy to turn his words back on him. He sighs heavily. "Aye girl. I would do most anything to keep you for myself." More than a yes or no- always the slightly willful dog, as he would say. There was an underlying tone in his voice that unnerved her- one that tried to remind her how beneath her he would always be.

She kissed him gently, moving to straddle him. She knew it may take him a little bit to take her again, but she intended to have him all the same. Sansa would kiss, grope, and grind against him until he was ready again. He groaned in such an unrestrained manner, his hands slipped up her hips and cupped her arse firmly. 

She kissed him hungrily, pressing her teats to his well-muscled and hairy chest.

"Then we shall discuss the particulars later," There would be time for talk later. Only then she would tell him what she had discussed with the Maester and Steward. They will marry once he lets her make him believe he is worthy. He would like it none at first, but she hoped when he spoke with the two himself that he would feel a bit mollified. They approved. 

Winterfell would have its Lady Sansa Stark, and soon enough she would have her Lord Husband, Sandor Clegane.

The Lady of Winterfell let her sworn-shield (for now) roll her over, yelping in delight as he nipped at her collar bone and dragged his tongue hot across her skin.

-

It was now more than two years previous when he found her in the Vale and spirited her away. Sandor was protecting her while they traveled North in increasingly dangerous frosts. He still held himself behind a stony facade of sternness. She could not find the rage that used to deflect her eyes, yet she could not glean anything of who he was, it frustrated her. Moons passed and she could not bring him to speak to her of his time on the Quiet Isle. Sharing furs at first gave her a confusing thrill and warmth that had nothing to do with body heat, or perhaps  _everything_ to do with it. She could feel tension building between them for reasons she thought she might be able to name if she had the mind to.

As they neared Winterfell she felt a bit uneasy with each passing day. She was truly afraid at what they would find, afraid that she could not undertake the task of rebuilding her home. But she also feared not being able to sit across the fire from him, watching him eat whatever game he'd hunted or gnaw on a small bone, deep in thought. Or see his eyes on her when he thought she couldn't see them. She didn't want to lose this unrestrained freedom with him.

Even for his stoicism towards her he seemed determined to express regret for the fact that he left her behind in King's Landing (except that he didn't, she had _chosen_ not to go, but try telling _him_ that) they began to argue over it again. As she closed her mouth and made to move away he cursed and threw his sword at her feet, stopping her from brushing off his solemn words and turning away from him to be maddeningly silent, which angered him. She found that it did not frighten her.

She wanted _some_ reaction out of him, and this one excited her. She yearned for him to grab her shoulders roughly, to...to _kiss_ her. She was sure it would be better than the one on the night of the Battle that she realized could not have been real.

He spit once before declaring, "Good Gods, let me give you my life!" And with that he was sworn to her. She knew then that she loved him. She would spend the next two years determined to make his oath mutual.

-

Sansa kissed him longingly at the memory of the ache his words gave her back then. An ache that hadn't been cured until he sought her in the dark of her chambers and let her know how truly he yearned for her.

Despite her knowledge that the path ahead of her would be difficult she thought brazenly, ' _Let them have their lands and their gods and their gold_.' She met his returning kiss and held him there for a moment, happiness stirring in her belly again. ' _Let them have their sers- I have the only man who would have me for just me,_ ' and she gave herself to the joy and the sensation of him- his worshipping hands, attentive mouth, the love in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! 
> 
> Sincerely I want to thank each and every one of you who hit kudos and those who commented- like I've said, this fic became SO much more than I anticipated. I had trouble giving it a proper end, but I think this one suffices. 
> 
> Much love everyone- I LOVED writing SanSan for my first time, I've been inspired by so many of you and all the wonderful fics on this website!
> 
> If any one has any prompts or anything for some new fics, let me have 'em!


	10. Scene from Chapter 5/6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a sketch I just did in Photoshop because I can't leave this story alone~
> 
> The scene from the end of Chapter 5/End of Chapter 6 when Sandor grabs Sansa and pulls her to him. (And I guess I went with book Sandor's scars haha)

[](http://photobucket.com/)


End file.
